


Poppin' off with the Pope

by AshenStardust



Category: The Young Pope (TV)
Genre: Catholic Sex, F/M, Only Male Orgasms Allowed, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Rough Sex, Smut, Unprotected Sex, which is to say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:48:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24368335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshenStardust/pseuds/AshenStardust
Summary: The Reader is out on a late-night stroll, and she catches the eye of one young pope.I would like to have a disclaimer that I am sorry, and I hold absolutely no disrespect or dislike for people of the Catholic faith.
Relationships: Pope Pius XIII/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	Poppin' off with the Pope

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a dear friend of mine, who has about as much respect for the church as I do. I didn't want to have sexual fantasies about the pope, any pope.

“Ma’am?”

You turned around suddenly. You covered your surprise poorly. At this time of night, you had not expected to run into anyone else.

“Do you live around here?” the man asked. He was handsome, regal, and there was something else to his features that you could not yet describe. You shook your head in answer to his question. “Then why have I seen you out here every day for the past month?”

He walked closer to you, into the light of the streetlamp. The beauty you saw in him changed in the new dimension of light and shadow. It was still beauty. “I have nowhere else to be.”

He tilted his head but seemed to accept your answer. “Walk with me.” It was a command, but a subtle one. You linked your arm with the one he offered and allowed him to lead you away. It was a dangerous game to be playing, even with a beautiful man, but you trusted him inexplicably. “Do you know who I am?” he asked leaning in to whisper the words in your ear.

“No.”

“No, I suppose you would not,” he agreed but he sounded regretful. He stopped and turned you to face him. His eyes had a glint to them that was at once playful and dangerous. “Would you like to?”

You thought that was an excellent way to find out this man was a serial killer. You had not heard anything on the news about such crimes. Perhaps you would be the first. He saw the fear cross your features and he smiled. It was not reassuring. He leaned in suddenly, “I - am the pope.”

You laughed. Free and ringing you laughed and twirled away from his grip. “You are not.” You turned back to face him. He was frowning and the danger was still in his eyes. 

“Let me prove it to you.”

“Very well,” laughter was still in your voice, “prove it to me.” He took your hands in his, walking backwards a moment to start your own walking, then you walked only hand in hand and his challenge began.

The Apostolic Palace. He led you to the building and entered it without fuss. You walked along, in slight wonder, behind him. “Come, come. See my room,” he insisted as he all but pushed you up the stairs. His playfulness had returned. He led you all the way up and into his room. You wandered it for a moment as he let you go.

“This is yours?” your incredulity was clear, but you had come to this place unaccosted. He hummed an affirmation and you startled as the sound was in your ear. His front pressed against your back and his arms wound around your middle. His lips rested easily on the shell of your ear.

“What sins would you confess?”

“I have no sins,” you breathed. The feeling of his lips and his breath was sensual, and you were aware this could quickly become illicit.

“Everyone sins.” His tone turned plain, demanding even.

You sighed and let your fingers trail over his arms. “I would have to believe in sin to commit a sin.”

He hummed in interest now. He rocked you to an unheard song and led you through another room. A small bed, you doubted it was even a twin, sat plain in a plain bedroom. “I thought I saw myself in you,” he admitted, “couldn’t believe you were not one of my nuns.”

You scoffed. Your eyes trailed from the arms he had controlling you to the bed. “Why am I in the Pope’s room?” 

“The Pope has needs.” His teeth grazed the shell of your ear and his hands dropped lower. He bit and licked at your ear as his fingers unbuttoned your trousers and slip them down your thighs. Deft fingers slipped beneath the hem of your underwear and when he brushed them against your clit you gasped and arched into him. “Do you know what to call me?”

“Y-your Holiness,” you stuttered out. He continued the pressure on your clit. Alternating light and rough circles. His other hand came up to fondle your breast.

“Very good,” he praised. “Has anyone ever had you?”

“No, Your Holiness.” You cried out when he twisted your nipple between his fingers cruelly. At the same time the fingers he had on your clit delved further. 

He pushed a finger into you and your breathing caught. “Does having sex with strange men arouse you?”

“I wouldn’t know,” you answered. You missed the friction of his fingers and began to grind down on his hand.

He grabbed at your breast hard enough to bruise. “Ah ah,” he chided, “don’t move.” You stopped grinding and his clutch let up. He removed his hand from your underwear. “I would say you do,” his finger glistened with your arousal, “Or maybe it’s the power, hmm?”

“Why did you bring me here?” you asked again. Your voice was weaker than you wanted it to be. His affect on your body was bringing a needy haze to your mind that you had not been expecting. 

“To fuck you,” he said, and it was nearly a snarl. He moved his hands to push you over the bed. You landed roughly and before you could regain yourself, he was on you. Your pants were taken the rest of the way off and your underwear went with it. You heard him moving his own clothes but when you turned to look, he did snarl at you and fisted your hair so you could only look forward.

You felt something, you thought it was his cock, at your entrance. His other hand went to your hip to lift you to the height he wanted. You were on your tiptoes with your elbows holding you steady on the bed. He entered you with one thrust and you choked on your scream. The burn, the pain. The feeling of him inside of you was foreign and suddenly unwanted, but as he sat inside you and his fingers returned to your clit, you began to open to him once more.

He must have felt you relax. As soon as you did, he rocked his hips. You gasped. The strange sensation of being full and the lingering pain of how that fullness came to be was as uncomfortable as you found it intoxicating. “Say my name.” he growled above you.

“Your Holiness.” It was the only name of his you knew. 

“Again,” he commanded. He rolled his hips. His fingers left your clit.

“Your Holiness.”

He let go of your hair to commit abuses on your breasts. His pace within you was languid. You weren’t sure why, but you doubted it was for your benefit. He palmed your breast, squeezed cruelly at the flesh, and twisted your nipples. He didn’t stop, or move on to the next pain, until you cried out from the first. 

“Please, Your Holiness, touch me.” You wanted his fingers on your clit again.

“I am touching you.” He sounded bored. Your whine of frustration turned into a groan as his cock pushed into a delicate place inside you. You resolved to take care of the issue yourself, but as soon as you moved your arm to your stomach, he smacked your ass. Once, twice, three times. The hits were merciless, and you could feel how tense he was. You felt his hand move back and you flinched, waiting for another blow. It didn’t come. You’d put your arm back down on the other side of the bed. 

The roll of his hips stayed their slow pace. He did not grow bored of turning your breasts into useless red flesh, but he did begin to appreciate smacking your ass. “Do you want children?” he asked suddenly.

You furrowed your brow. Where the hell had that come from? You knew he had not grabbed a condom, but what was this about children… “No,” you answered when he fisted your hair in his hand and wretched your neck painfully.

“Why not?”

“I’m afraid I would love them,” you blurted. Your shame painted you red, but as you realized what you said you also realized you were telling the truth. You did not want to be tethered. You hated anything that was not your freedom. Having children… You knew you would love them, die for them, and you would resent them.

His pace quickened after that. You moaned in time with his thrusts and occasionally your moans would blend with his grunts. He was taking his pleasure from you. The hand in your hair manipulating your torso how he liked. His other hand on your hip to better spear him into you. 

He was hard and fast and something in your words spurned him into his pleasure more than abusing your flesh. “Your Holiness,” you keened when his cock struck home three times in a row. That sent him over the edge and his grip on your hip tightened as his hips stuttered and slowed and you felt his seed spill into you.

With that he pushed out of you, away from you, and you fell forward with a cry. The bed caught you, but you did not dare to turn and look at him. “If you have my child,” he said, “you will tell me.”

You were trying to calm your breathing. Your sudden panic in the realization of what you’d just done. “Your Holiness.” Your tone was almost frantic, but it was low.

“Get out.” The venom in his tone froze the blood in your veins. You moved shakily up from the bed, pulled your pants up, and left with your head down.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment and kudos are, as always, appreciated.


End file.
